His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. She thought of using her new brute strength to kidnap and ransom Gianfrancesco. “You would believe that life is kindled by the passions alone. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again.
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